


A Little More

by OfPencilsandPenguins



Series: Tales from Hawkins [1]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Dustin and Lucas try to be good wingmen, El and Mike are cute, F/M, Fluff, Light Angst, Mild Language, Mileven, Post-Season/Series 02, Teenage Hormones, Will the Wise is filled with wisdom
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-20
Updated: 2018-07-11
Packaged: 2019-06-09 00:22:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15255306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OfPencilsandPenguins/pseuds/OfPencilsandPenguins
Summary: El has returned, along with peace in Hawkins. Everything is calm. Everything is wonderful. Mike's best friend is back and there is absolutely no room for complaint or discontent.So why does he find himself wanting more?





	A Little More

Mike hopes his nervousness isn’t as apparent as it feels, knowing very well the hope is in vain. His palms are sweating more than palms have any right to sweat, and his legs wobble and twitch like he’s a dying cockroach. He hopes El knows he’s not  _ trying  _ to step on her feet.

She looks up at him with those big doe eyes that make him all weak in the knees and he nearly becomes acquainted with the gymnasium floor.

Deep down he knows that she can tell how much of a mess he is right now. Slow dancing isn’t an activity one chooses if one is trying to hide something from their partner. As if he could hide things from her in the first place. Not to mention the fact that he’s not exactly doing a stellar job of hiding.

A faint giggle escapes her lips as he steps on her toes again.

“Is this how you’re supposed to dance?”

He can’t tell if the question is honest or teasing, and either way his mouth is cotton.

Maybe it doesn’t matter how sweaty his palms are or how incompetent his footwork is. It’s not like El cares about that kind of stuff anyways. And if she did she wouldn’t judge. She never judges.

His eyes, as they’re known to do, trail to her lips. He especially hopes she doesn’t notice how often he does that.

Damn his adolescent brain and its adolescent urges.

“Sorry,” he responds belatedly. “I’m not very… good… at this,” he stammers out, unable to tear his eyes away from her lips.

Why is the urge to kiss her coming on so severely right now? Usually it pops into his head and leaves like any other intrusive, random thought. But now it’s everywhere. He can’t think clearly, he can’t see straight, and all of his appendages are jelly.

One would think that Mike just needs to give in to the urge. Surely that would sate the hunger, quiet the voices, calm his raging hormones down even a little.

One would  _ think. _

Kissing her again was like electricity and fireworks and a roaring flame and all of those other stupid cliches Mike has always scoffed at. And as soon as it was over he wanted more. The hunger grew more desperate, the voices louder, and the raging hormones surged through his body like a flood through a valley.

“It’s okay,” she says softly. Her fingers brush the back of his neck with a gentleness that makes his spine tremble. Is she toying with him? She has to be toying with him.

It could just be the lights. Maybe these dazzling, sparkling, glimmering lights are just tugging especially hard at his romantic side.

(A side that he  _ definitely  _ does not have, if anyone asks.)

Or maybe it’s the music. The excess of slow songs have left the pair with plenty of excuses to near to each other. All that closeness and contact has to be stirring up his hormones.

(Not that they need an excuse to be close together. When they’re not dancing you can be sure they’re cuddled up together against the far wall, much to the chagrin and teasing of the rest of the party.)

Or perhaps it’s just  _ her. _

(A blindingly-obvious idea, now that Mike really thinks about it.)

El, with her flattering dress. El, with her fancy hair and makeup. El, with her deep, kind eyes and her shy, lovely smile and her peach-pink lips that are driving Mike up the  _ goddamn wall because he can’t focus on anything other than the urge to— _

“Mike?” El asks, bringing his train of thought to a screeching halt.

“Yeah?” he asks casually. Or, at least, he hopes his tone is casual. In reality it’s probably the least casual anyone has ever sounded in the history of ever.

“Are you okay?”

_ Not really _ is his gut reaction. However, he fears she will worry if he verbalizes that. The last thing he wants is to kill the mood.

So the question remains: how does he respond?

Should he say she makes him nervous?

No, that would give the exact wrong impression. She makes him feel amazing. Also a little terrible. But not in a bad way. Sort of… amazingly terrible. Or terribly amazing. Not that she’s terrible, or that the feelings she makes him feel are terrible, but sometimes the butterflies in his stomach make him feel sick. Sick with love. Lovesick. Terribly, disgustingly lovesick. She makes him feel disgusting.

Mike is grateful he has the self-awareness to realize that is  _ not _ the right thing to say.

Should he say he just feels kind of gross and sweaty?

It’s not necessarily inaccurate, but it certainly lacks the nuance of the answer he needs to give to make sure El knows what he’s feeling. Not to mention it’s just weird. So goddamn weird.

Should he tell her he’s feeling something he doesn’t understand?

No, he knows what he’s feeling. He wants to kiss her. That’s pretty blatantly clear to him. But just dropping that line out of the blue is liable to scare her off, and, again, that’s the last thing he wants to do.

He knows he’s been thinking about this for far too long, but El’s expression is one of kind patience. Bless her. Bless her and her patience.

“I’m just…” he trails off. He’d hoped that starting a sentence would somehow help him find the end of one.

(It did not.)

“I’m really happy you’re here.”

There’s a falter in her expression for a moment, as if she knows he’s holding something back. But her smile brightens and her fingers interlace behind his neck again.

“Me too.”

And Mike wasn’t lying when he said that. The number of times he’s dreamt or fantasized about going to the Snow Ball with El is borderline unhealthy. And now that they’re actually here it’s  _ so  _ much better than he could have ever imagined. The lights are pretty, the music is lovely, and El is the most beautiful person to have ever walked the face of the earth. And Mike is happy. So ludicrously, indescribably happy.

So why does he find himself wanting more?

**Author's Note:**

> Second chapter should be up sometime soon, and I have 20+ Stranger Things oneshots in the works, so stay tuned!


End file.
